


Lucky Number Six (Rewrite)

by jinxedragon



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, everyone's got anxiety and stress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinxedragon/pseuds/jinxedragon
Summary: What happens when you get a second chance at life? Six isn't completely sure but it's something they can't pass up the chance at.
Relationships: Jaal Ama Darav/Original Character(s), Male Ryder | Scott/Reyes Vidal
Kudos: 13





	1. Death

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally just going to put the rewrite on the original but decided not too because this will be a bit... different than what I had originally planned for that story. 
> 
> Sidenote: Noble Six is now my nonbinary character Six (they'll use both they/them and he/him to be referred by).

You'd think that facing imminent death would make you rethink your life, maybe even leave you terrified by the certain outcome that you’re definitely going to die. But the truth of the matter is...

_They feel nothing_. 

No pain at all, though in truth, pain is a symptom of the past for them. With the nerve damage they've experienced so severely there was bound to be side effects. One’s that led to a screen blaring a red warning across their eyes even as they take another shot at the Jackal that had tagged them.

There was no time left to feel anything anyway. Their number finally coming up as they fight to the death in a hopeless endeavor to take out as many enemies as they can with them. The last stand. 

The last chance for some kind of vengeance. They can't even bring themself to really care. Their team is gone. Picked off one by one, a 'heroic' sacrifice one after the other. 

An exhausting joke about an unkillable team who got an Achilles heel.

Of course, Six couldn't actually know if their presence had made the difference. It felt like it though and tasted like some kind of failure on their part. The lone wolf was so great at causing death of all kinds it seems. 

Even if their hands shake a little as they slam another clip into their gun. Even if their vision is starting to blur. Death is something they've been taught to do. So easy it's almost like breathing. 

They hate it. They love it.

It won't ever bring back their lost friends. It won't reverse the bullet that had splattered Kat's skull against a wall. Won't bring back Carter from his self-sacrifice. Won't stop the blade that had sliced through Emile's chest. 

...Won't stop Jorge from throwing them back into space. To watch as he died in an explosion swallowed by the vacuum of space. His dog tags heavy around their neck. Weighing more and more like a chain as their hopeless fight carries on. 

Has it been minutes or an hour? _It doesn’t really matter anymore does it._

Their breathing is getting heavier, each shot not as carefully placed. Bodies of dead covenant litter the battlefield but they just don't seem to stop coming. 

Six can't stop if the covenant won't. They can still shoot, they can still kill. Even if they can tell that the air is growing warmer and the sky is growing brighter.

They know what's going to come. Know that Reach itself is lost. But there's still hope for others. Hope that stands on the backs of the dead who risked everything for it. 

Their gun clicks empty and with a hiss of frustration they toss it away, grabbing their pistol from its holster. 

It won't be long before they join their team. At least maybe Jun will survive though. _Lucky bastard_. A harsh bark of laughter filters through their helmet. _Wish you the best of luck, hope you get out of this hellhole._

Because they definitely aren't. They feel like there should be more anger. Anger at these fucking aliens that murder entire planets. Anger that the Covenant had killed their family and left them with nothing.

Maybe even anger at their own government for taking advantage of a kid who'd lost everything. 

_It doesn't matter_. Not when they can see their armor smoking from plasma shots. Shields already cracking and dying in a burst of blue light. 

_Not done yet_. They still have time enough to run, dodging down into a sturdier cover as they pull their sniper rifle from their back. Only a few shots left but they'll make them count. 

Because they never could get the stain of Kat's blood off their armor. No matter how hard they had scrubbed. No matter how much their own hands had bled. 

**One.**

Another shot into the chamber. Another Elite in their site because they can still see the Pelican going up in smoke as it crashed into its target. 

**Two.**

Dodge back down. Hold and wait for a chance because they had watched helpless as their friend fell forward and dropped from the guns. 

**Three.**

Ignore the tears and blurred vision. Aim on target. Their hands somehow steady because they never got a chance to tell Jorge the truth. 

**Four.**

Take them down. Give humanity the time it needs because there was still hope for one of them to get off of this planet.

 **Five.**

Even if there was no hope for them in particular. 

**Click.**

They want to scream as they toss the rifle away. Out of guns but not out of enemies. Left with no choice but to rush forward. Hand reaching down to grab a plasma rifle. 

Shots burning into their side causing them instead to stumble away empty-handed. Only to have another shot crack into their helmet. Shards of it blown back into their eyes and face. 

They try to blink away the blood that drips down so they can see their screen. Try and asses the damage. How much longer they might get. But the screen is gone and they're left with no way to know their condition. Leaving them with no choice but to rip the helmet from their head. Tossing it straight at the nearest grunt.

Black hair annoyingly falling and sticking onto the blood smeared across their face. Mouth turning into a snarl as they reach instead for a nearby plasma sword. Driving forward and through one enemy after the other. 

They know they're dying. Their dark eyes feel like they've been glazed over. The world blurring together into a single entity as they give one final fight. 

Elites swarm in around them and they know they're outnumbered. Hopelessly outmatched.

_I don't want to die._

It's the first kind of pain they've felt in a long time. That sudden feeling of wanting to live so visceral it cuts them far deeper than any weapon could. 

But there's no chance to think on it as the Elites pile on them. Forcing them down as their legs give out. A fight still building in them as they grab the knife strapped across their chest and shove it into the eye of a nearby Elite. No surrender. No defeat. 

_A spartan never dies._

They try not to think about the click of a plasma sword that hisses to life. Or the way their arms have become too heavy to move. Helpless as their executioner steps forward. 

It doesn't feel like anything as the sword pierces through their armor. Just a gasp of air and the taste of blood on their tongue. And maybe that's what makes the entire situation so funny to them. Their laughter a mix of hysteria and blood even as the enemy watches them. An unnerving scene to the Elites that surround them. 

Or maybe what's truly funny is the fact that they had pulled all the pins on their grenades during the struggle. 

" _I win_ ," they whisper their last lie as an explosion of sound and light swallows them.

…

_“What the hell was that?!”_

_“What did we hit?!_

_“Don’t know yet, ma’am.”_

_“Someone get on the comms and get me some answers!”_

_“On it.”_

_“We’ve got injured, ma’am!”_

_“Shit. Get them to the medbay now!”_


	2. Pathfinder

Scott Ryder was not having a good day. An understatement of the century but he'd rather not try to describe it any further than that. _Because_ that would be tempting fate.

And in his experience, fate always had something up its sleeve to make everything so much worse than it already was. He definitely did not need that right now. Not when first-contact had gone so wrong and left them with an injured teammate and a possibly dead one.

"I can't believe they shot him," Liam mumbles, his voice filled with hurt disbelief. He couldn't believe it either.

They shot him. He'd been surrendering and they had shot him.

Liam stands at his back. His presence right now is the only thing keeping Scott from having a complete panic attack. _This shouldn’t have happened. I should have thrown up a barrier. I should have done something._

He can feel Liam leaning over his shoulder. Watching and waiting for his diagnosis of Kirkland. _He’s dead and they both know it._ But he doesn’t want to believe it. So he checks the scans again and again. Hands shaking as he swipes away the information to clear the cache and check just one more time.

_If he's dead what if everyone else is too? What if-_

"Ryder, he’s gone..." Liam gently grabs his shoulder, pulling him back up and turning him away from Kirkland's body. "We have to keep going. We can come back for him once we’re all off this hell planet."

"Yeah, I- I know," he sighs in defeat as he moves out of Liam’s grasp, his steps unsteady as they make their way up the hill. "This is all such bullshit." A promise of a better future flushed down the drain. He might have had a better shot just staying in the Milkyway _but then he’d truly be all alone wouldn’t he._

 _At least there’s still a chance for Sara to be okay._ He can keep moving for her. Keep surviving. He’s not sure if he could do that for just his dad.

"It is bullshit." Liam readily agrees. His shoulder bumping in comradery with Scott's as they walk. An unintentional motion that helps ground him back to reality. "At least the architecture is definitely something."

It was something alright. Alien technology centuries old, built after the arks had set off on their journey. A mystery he should be excited to try and solve. But all he can do is feel an uneasy anxiety growing with each step they walk further inland.

The feeling doesn’t stop him from at least enjoying the strange tech among the ruins. The readings too hard to decipher by himself but he still keeps a mental tally of what’s showing similar energy signals and what’s not. _Why is the hostile alien’s tech so different from the ruins?_

They stop on a spot that turns from ground to a metal platform that’s alive with an energy that pulses through its mechanical veins. It’s a mystifying experience as he looks out over the chasm. Energy thrumming from deep underground, vibrating through his very core. Like nothing he’s experienced before.

“Sara would have loved this.” _And she's going to be pissed she’d missed it._

“I’m guessing she’s more the explorer type of you two?” Liam asks, kneeling down as he peers over the edge with a whistle, “Would not want to fall down there.”

“No, she’s more the archeologist of the family. She would go on digs as protection and end up down in the dirt with the people she was supposed to be protecting,” he shakes his head with a fond smile. “I just prefer to focus more on the present… and tinkering of course.”

“Of course. Is that why you’ve been drooling all over that tech?” He laughs standing and easily evading the weak punch aimed at his shoulder.

Scott shakes his head in response with a laugh, “Oh please, you can’t even see me drooling with my helmet on.”

“I don’t know man. Something’s definitely leaking out of your helmet.” The laughter between them feels a bit lighter. Tension easing just a bit as it echoes out of tune with the sounds from the chasm. For a moment everything doesn’t feel as hopeless as it had started too.

“We should probably go back and try the other way unless you want to cross the Alien Gods’ chasm of death.”

“Alien Gods? Really Ryder? You- wait... I see flares!” Liam jumps forward, jets activating and allowing him to touch down on the next platform as he points to the sky. Towards the three flares already falling back down to earth.

"I see them. Marking the Nav point!” The omnitool comes to life as he punches in the direction creating a rough estimate of a map towards the flares. “Hopefully, that's some of our people."

Liam nods, crossing his arms as he eyes the next set of platforms, "And the fastest way to it is through the death chasm."

"Yep. See you on the other side!" Scott laughs as he takes a running start. A wave of energy under his feet helping him push off as he aims straight for the empty space between Liam and the next platform.

He can hear Liam suck in a breath through the coms and the sigh of relief as Scott hits solid biotic energy instead of falling to his death. It takes seconds for him to form more energy under his feet, seemingly walking on air before reaching the platform ahead of Liam.

"Hey! Biotics are cheating! Wait up!"

It takes them longer than it probably should to get anywhere near the flares. Several different side trips to scout the area and a trip up the mountain that leads them to Greer. Just in time too, stepping in to save him before he became another victim of the hostile aliens.

It also gave Scott enough pieces of the puzzle to piece out that these aliens were just as much strangers to the planet as he and the team are. At least that evens the playing field a bit. They won’t be the only ones out here dodging the rapidly increasing lightning strikes.

"Cora, do you read? We're almost to your position." It’s a guess that the flares were hers. One he has a feeling is right because the only people left are his dad’s team.

It takes a second. An empty crackle of empty air before her voice comes through, "Loud and clear Scott. Shuttle repairs are underway, but we're surrounded!"

"Shit. We're on our way, and watch out- they are definitely not friendly."

They push forward, running as fast as they can as they hear the sounds of a firefight starting. And maybe when they reach them he lets loose a bit too much. His biotics flaring and blasting in large bursts of energy instead of his usual precision.

It takes concentration and control for those kinds of maneuvers. Neither of which he has the patience for right now.

“Scott get back into cover!” Cora yells over at him, a warning just in time for him to avoid a spray of bullets that hit empty air above his head.

“Thanks!”

The feeling of electricity running up his arms is almost unbearable as the fight continues. Lighting hitting more and more often as each enemy drops. Leaving him distracted enough that he’s not fast enough to realize exactly how close it is.

Not until Cora is suddenly throwing up a barrier around her, Hayes and Harry. The lighting absorbing into it before being harmlessly dispersed towards the ground.

“The last one’s down,” Liam says as he jogs towards Cora. "I didn't know you were biotic.”

"Don't worry. I'm not contagious," she jokingly responds as she shakes out her hands.

"Really? Damn, they told me never to sneeze on anyone because I was." Scott can't help but comment as he joins them. His smile is a bit too wide as Cora glares back at him.

"I think they were talking about your personality Scott."

"Ouch," he places a hand over his heart dramatically. Knowing full well she was rolling her eyes at him now.

“Coms are back up,” Hayes says weakly, Harry helping her back towards the shuttle.

"Don't worry I've got her. You guys worry about getting in contact with the pathfinder."

“Great let’s contact Sam and go from there.”

There ended up leading them straight back to his dad and towards an alien facility. It feels like a rush of information that’s suddenly too hazy to remember. He feels like he's barely able to keep up as his father pushes on ahead. Taking them through enemy territory and a hail of bullets all on a hope that they’ll somehow get out of this.

The anxiety is starting to build up again. A bad feeling that's twisting his stomach into knots and leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Getting worse the farther they go in.

He knows this exact feeling so well, too. He's had it so many times before and something worse always happens after.

"Dad I think-"

"Quiet Scott we're almost there!" His father yells back, switching to his omnitool as he overrides the nearest enemies shields.

_Something is wrong. Something is wrong._

He can barely breathe and he has to force himself into cover as his father starts working on the console.

"You doing okay there Scott?" Cora asks as she slides up to his cover. Peeking over and firing a few shots before hunkering back down.

"Just peachy," His voice feels strangled as he says it. So he puts his focus elsewhere. Squeezing his hand into a fist and forcing his biotics to form into solid shards that he flicks out towards an approaching gunner.

He can do this. He can focus on this and not the feeling. And he does until somewhere in the back of his mind he registers his dad shouting for him.

"Scott help me get this open!"

He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to be here or even in Andromeda. But he's got no other choice anymore. "Fine!"

The door opens easily between the two of them, and as they walk in he falls behind just a bit. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Probably not but we've got no other choice. Let's see if I can at least have a conversation.” His dad says as he lights up his omnitool. Punching in a few instructions before beginning to lift it towards the machine.

"Who are going to talk too?" He takes another step back. He should say something, should do something.

"More like 'what'. I think it's automated."

He expects something to immediately go wrong. For something to explode or for them to be overwhelmed by enemies.

But instead, they’re given a cloudless sky. The feeling of electricity almost seeming to vanish from the air itself as they both step back outside.

“It’s amazing.” For a single moment, he thinks his bad feeling was wrong.

“It really is.”

But then there’s a feeling of weightlessness. A force pushing him off and leaving him unable to grab anything to stop his fall. It takes a second to even register that something has happened. Everything hurts. _Breathing hurts_. Each gasp of breath desperate even as it burns his lungs. He can barely see but he knows his helmet is shattered. Knows he’s going to die here on this hell planet.

He thinks he can hear his dad, see a blur of dark armor and a worried face. He weakly grabs the arm that tries to help hold him up.

_He doesn’t want to die._

“Scott - Hang on,” a sound of words that have no meaning even when his breathing suddenly becomes just a bit less painful.

He doesn’t know what’s going on. He wants the pain to stop but at the same time knows something bad will happen if it does. _Why are his eyes so hard to keep open?_

_Why did this have to happen?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending of the chapter was a little bit rushed but now we can move back on to Six :D


	3. Hope You Know How to Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking all of the liberties lmao  
> and putting in a bunch of headcanons

_"Blend in. You'll figure it out soon enough."_

They lie still, breathing deep and even as they listen to the commotion going on around them. It doesn't sound right and they're not sure exactly why. Even the atmosphere seems different than what they're used to on a military vessel.

Too much panic over the ship hitting something?… Or maybe too little panic? People unsure how to react but not enough to say anything needs to be immediately abandoned or dealt with. Which possibly means the emergency isn't an attacking force. These people might not even be military.

Civilians? Rebels? Six is not exactly sure but as far as they can tell these people don't feel hostile. Or at least not yet anyway.

None of that explains why Six is here though. Or more importantly _how_ they’re here. With an explosion as big as that one had been, there should have been nothing left of them. They should without a doubt be dead.

They don’t think they are though. _What was death supposed to feel like?_ Empty? Painful? They still can't feel the pain from their wounds, just a pounding headache more than anything.

Reluctantly they open their eyes, wincing against the bright overhead lights above them. White walls, white ceiling. Cleaner than they had expected. They turn their head, watching as people run back and forth. Some of whom are forced to stop and sit on nearby hospital beds by people they assume are doctors.

"Oh good, you're awake." They turn their head to the other side, finding a man standing next to their bed. His tanned face lined with age and exhaustion. He brings up a tablet quickly typing something as he speaks, "At least that means we don't have to worry about you falling into a coma Logan."

"Who?" They scrunch their face in confusion at the unfamiliar name.

"You? Your name on file _is_ Logan Ramirez," he frowns in response, "Hmmm, that head trauma from the explosion must have been worse than we originally thought. Sam can you scan-"

"Already done Dr.” An electronic voice followed by a blue light turns on behind them. _An AI?_ “It appears that Mr. Ramirez experienced some brain trauma that could be interfering with their memory."

That doesn’t seem right. At least the memory issues don’t seem right. Especially considering they know their real name is definitely not Logan Ramirez. The head trauma, however, is real enough that they can still feel their brain rattling around in their skull somehow.

"Where exactly am I?" they frown, sitting up despite the man’s attempt to get them to settle back down. There’s an itch in their legs, a nervous habit to start pacing that they negate by swinging their legs off the bed and sitting up to their full height.

The doctor takes a step back, eyeing them with a strange look. "You're on the Ark Hyperion. Do you remember coming on board?"

"...No."

He sighs deeply in response, "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

"I was… fighting. Making a last stand against the Covenant on Reach. I pulled my grenade pins... I don't even know how I'm alive right now." They shake their head before placing it in their hands. The feeling of something not being right getting stronger by the second along with a growing headache.

They peak up to find the man somehow frowning deeper, concentrating on typing something out on his tablet before setting it down on a nearby table.

The blue light flashes again, "If I may Dr. from what I could find in Mr. Ramirez's file they may be remembering two years before the arks left. The report is heavily modified but from what I can make out they had been on assignment for the alliance military to investigate a cult and ended up sustaining severe damage from an explosion."

"So it’s possible the current explosion might be causing current memory issues while also triggering those memories," another deep sigh, "Alright, I’m actually supposed to be getting ready to head down so for now how about you rest. I’ll get Dr. T’Perro to-”

“That would be unadvised sir. If Mr. Ramirez truly has lost two years of his memory; he may react adversely to alien species.”

“What?” The man sends them a look and they shrug their shoulders unsure how to respond. As far as they remember the only aliens they have met had been trying to kill them and wipe out humanity.

Which leaves the question as to why one would be a doctor treating humans. The feeling of wrongness is suddenly overwhelming. They need more information and the best way to do that is to become insignificant so that they can do recon.

“I think I'll just lay back down for now?” they say slowly, letting themself feel the uncertainty of the situation. After all, the best lies are just the truth interrupted the wrong way.

“Fine," he pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "If your condition worsens Sam _will_ alert Lexi.”

"I- okay." They nod their head, before lying back down and closing their eyes. Listening for his sigh and his steps that carry him finally out of the medical bay.

They'll wait. Just a few minutes to make sure they're clear to move.

"Mr. Ramirez-"

'not my name' they mutter as they open their eyes to glare at the ai.

"You can access any information you need on the datapad beside your bed. Including your files."

"...I can access my files?" Because apparently they have those. Even if the files are without a doubt fake.

“Yes.”

Hesitantly they grab the tablet, examining it and noting the difference from what they’re used to. More advanced? Or more like a different kind of advancement? Not the time to really delve into those questions so instead they attempt to turn it on.

And when they fail the AI thankfully turns it on for them as it uploads file after file. What they find is that the files are too well made to be a coincidence. Going even into enough detail to explain away their many surgical scars while also hiding away their enhancements. They even find added in notes about past aversions to aliens due to the ‘trauma’ experienced.

_A ‘trauma’ supposedly dealt with_. Such a shame that they apparently don’t have the two years’ worth of therapy they apparently went through.

Someone had to go through some trouble to give them this kind of fake identification. Specific fake information that gave them something to fall back on for any needed explanations. Why anyone would do this is a mystery. There’s a possibility that Six was very intentionally made into a sleeper agent amongst insurgents. _Again_.

Wouldn't exactly be the first time to be assigned something like that. Or to be thrown into a situation without information. After all, people always expected Spartans to be faceless killing machines. That kind of thinking made it easier to infiltrate terrorist organizations and wreak havoc on them from the inside.

_They still don't understand why_ \- Their brain skips a step as they watch a woman walk by. Blue skin and a head with either pulled back spikes or tentacles; human only in the way her face looks. But for some reason that immediately rubs them the wrong way. Like their brain and their perception are suddenly at war.

"Is something wrong?" The alien asks, soft and gentle, looking at them with concern. It takes them a second to even realize _she?_ had spoken. Is this the Dr. the man had been talking about?

"I… am not sure…" they respond slowly. Hands gripping into the bedding beneath them. "I'm not sure I…” _Know what you are?_ Too obvious a question. Play dumb, play forgetful. But never admit to not knowing something doesn’t exist. Or at least just don’t admit you don’t even know what her species is.

"You're the crewmate with the head injury, correct" she comments as she stops next to them. Not noticing or at least not showing she’s noticed the way Six’s body language subtly shifts as they sit back up, ready for a fight. Somewhere in the back of their mind, they know that it won’t come to that. "I’m Dr. Lexi T'Perro, I hear you’re having some memory issues?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a question?” she huffs out a small laugh.

“I don’t know,” they force themself to relax. Scratching the back of their head awkwardly, “I guess I have to be having some issues if I don’t even remember coming on board, right? Uhm,” they look past her. Watching as a person is brought in on a stretcher. “I think for the most part I’m physically fine and… it looks like you might need the extra bed. So if I can get the all-clear?”

She looks behind her with a frown, before turning back and washing it away with a small smile, “Let me just run a few scans-”

“Already done Dr. T’perro. Mr. Ramirez shows no sign of further damage and is slowly healing.”

“That…” she frowns as she stares at the ai, before shaking her head, “Alright then... I at least expect you to come back in the next couple of days for a check-up.”

“Of course doctor.” They nod their head, standing up and towering over her. They could overpower her easily. No weapon, no armor. She’d be easy to take down if she was a threat. But that’s not the kind of thinking that will help them. Especially right now.

The doctor doesn’t even notice it when they snatch the tablet they’d been looking through. Too busy helping other people to watch as they walk out of the medical bay without a second glance.

They stop only a few feet from the door, as they glare down at the tablet. “So.. _Sam_. Are you going to give me any answers?”

The only response they get is the silence of a busy ship.


	4. Stranger and Stranger

They'd like to say the most frustrating part of this entire situation is the uncooperative AI that definitely knows more than what it’s been telling them. But the truth is their current frustrations are much simpler than that. Mainly, finding someplace where people weren’t. Or at the very least where people would ignore them, even if just for a minute, to give them time to read through the rest of their files.

But apparently they underestimated how much they actually stand out among these people. It’s not even the height that’s the issue, it's that Six can’t hold themself like a civilian, can’t pretend that war and anger didn't shape them into what they are. These people aren't insurgents, they're not rebels, and they definitely don’t give off a feeling of military. At least not the military that they’re used too.

No stiff postures, no guns at every door. No feeling of, that they’ve only got seconds of peace before they get pulled back on to duty.

These people give off that rare feeling of civilians and soldiers that hadn't seen the brunt of the damage from the covenant. Though Six wouldn't go so far to say none of them had seen some kind of battle. Just… not the things Six went through.

They can feel people's stares on them. Like somewhere in their minds they know that Six doesn't belong. Maybe it’s just Six’s paranoia running wild but right now they can’t help but fully agree with them on that.

Wherever this is. Six is _not_ supposed to be here.

With a sigh, they lean into the darkest corner of the ship they can find. Pinching the bridge of their nose as they try their best to will away the oncoming headache. This whole situation somehow feels worse than when they thought they were going to die.

They knock their head back against the wall, a solid thunk that sounds more like bending metal. _Shit_. They freeze, trying to keep a straight face as people glance over at them. _Too much strength fuck._

Crossing their arms they meet the stares with a glare until everyone else seems to get the hint. Running off and trying to be anywhere but near them. Definitely not the best start to blending in. But if they're being honest, they’re not sure if they even want to try.

What they really want to do is to find their gear, maybe even start working to fix their armor if there was anything left of it. And a change of clothes that actually fit wouldn’t hurt either. The uniform that they had woken up in was ill-fitting. Too tight to fit their broad shoulders and it felt like if they made the wrong move it might rip.

They’d also like to find their dog tags… Well, at least _Jorge's dog tags_. It had to be here, right? Taken off when they were put into the med bay? But if it was, that leaves the question as to why no one questioned the dog tags that definitely did not match their fake information.

...Actually, if they're really thinking about it how are they even standing right now? They may not feel much pain but their body would still know if they were overexerting themself. There should be shaking, lightheadedness, or even just difficulty moving. They know they heal faster than the average person but not fast enough to get the ok to just leave the medical bay after an explosion and head trauma. Not to mention being run through the gut with a sword.

Pushing off the wall they start walking again. Moving with purpose as people rush by them. Until they finally find an area of the ship that seems to be mostly sleeping quarters. They slip into the closest empty room and turn back to watch as the door shuts behind them. The doors all seem automatic, how would they even lock one?

The AI probably could but they're not sure how much they trust it. Especially considering how it was willing to lie. The smart one’s always felt too human for their own good and this one had to be exactly that.

“Uh... Sam?” _That’s what they’d called it right?_

“Yes, Mr. Ramirez?” Its voice feels more like it’s ringing in their head rather than the room. Causing them to flinch back just a bit.

“Okay, _first of all,_ we both know that’s not my name.” At least they really hope it knows that’s not their name otherwise… well better not to think about it, “Secondly, can you lock the door or at least show me how to lock it?”

“You’d require an Omni-tool in order to interact with any locking mechanisms on the door. Until you get one I can aid you in that matter.” The light on the door pulses a sharp red and they breathe a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about while adding on the issue of how to get an... om-ni tool? “Also, If you do not wish to be called Mr. Ramirez how would you like me to address you?”

A loaded question that even the AI couldn’t realize exactly what it asked. They wipe a hand over their face and lean back against one of the bunks. Would people question the AI calling them Six? It would be better than using any of their other names at least. But also risky of exposing themself to questions they don’t want to answer. “Just… let’s stick with Logan.”

“Alright Logan, is there anything else I can help with?”

“Yeah. Where the fuck am I, how did I get here, and how do i get an om-ni tool?” There’s a beat of silence as they wait for an answer. Though they have a feeling it’s not going to be as simple as that.

“You are in the crew qua-”

“Do not fuck with me right now,” They snap, aiming a glare at the ceiling.

“You are on the human ark Hyperion in the Andromeda cluster. I do not have access to how you came on board.” Another beat of silence, “You can request an Omni-tool from requisitions.”

“Great... None of that helps,” they stop for a second before thinking better of it, “but thanks anyway.” Best to be courteous, they know what happens when an AI hit’s its age limit. They’re not stupid enough to piss it off, even if it’s still got years left.

“If you like I can give you access to the vids and basic information on the andromeda project. As well as make the requisition for you.”

Better than nothing at least, “Alright, that works... I’m guessing you don’t know who made my ‘ _files’_?”

“I do not.”

Another mystery they’d have to solve themself. Fantastic. That just leaves them with what they’ve been dreading. They breathe deeply before pulling up their shirt to reveal a long scar across their abdomen. Already long healed and fading. Maybe they are having some trouble with their memory because they should remember something about this.

They should, they know they should remember but it’s like something in their head is pounding against their skull. They can’t remember. And suddenly they have a horrifying thought. “Uhm... Sam, how long have I been on this ‘ _ark_ ’?”

“From what I can find at least 200 years.”

“Well, Fuck.”


End file.
